


i'm here till i die

by super



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mild Kink, Mirror Sex, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 03:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/pseuds/super
Summary: When Chan's self-confidence falters, Soonyoung is around to pick up the pieces.Takes place during HARU tour.





	i'm here till i die

**Author's Note:**

> for april & raine for encouraging my hyperfixation in different, yet equally terrible ways
> 
> also pls god someone hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bojios) so i have more people to yell about soonchan with

****It’s funny at first: Chan stretches out his arm for a handshake and the girl runs by him to join her friend at the end of the line, cheerful as anything, her laughter high and bright in the crowd. Soonyoung catches the awkward moment and grins at him, and Chan, unfazed, saves it with a shrug and a self-five.

But it happens again two fans later. And then again. And again. And by the time they’re halfway through the handshake line all the good humor’s been sucked out of the room. Seventeen still do their jobs, of course — their continued success is at the mercies of their fans’ whims after all — but twelve pairs of eyes cut to their left towards their youngest between polite conversations with the fans, and the whole thing really isn’t much fun anymore.

Soonyoung is livid and he’s not sure if it shows. 

Wonwoo elbows him in the side during a small lull and jerks his head in Chan’s direction.

It definitely shows on Chan, who perks up at any praise and worries far too much about everything else. Soonyoung’s known Chan for long enough to read the slump in his shoulders and the tightness of his smile. He hates that they’re all seated according to age right now but they get through the handshake event either way, the entire group heaving a sigh of relief in unison when the auditorium door shuts behind the last fan.

“Well that was rude,” Seungkwan mutters loudly, offended on Chan’s behalf and giving voice to all their thoughts.

Japanese staff members mill about putting things back in order as Soonyoung shoves his chair back and makes to join them, unwilling to make too much of a scene in public.

Chan’s ears are pink from the attention as Vernon slings an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t mind them,” he says, as Soonyoung arrives to slot himself against Chan’s other side. “The line was probably moving a little too fast.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, guys,” Chan mumbles, shoulders tense, chafing under the weight of their sympathy.

Soonyoung curls a hand around Chan’s waist and huddles a little closer anyway. Chan huffs and shoots him a withering look, though it lacks heat. “What?” Soonyoung says. “I just felt like coming over here to hug our maknae.”

“You’re all making it super weird right now,” Chan declares as Soonyoung decides it’s now an endeavour that requires both arms and starts to cling in earnest. Chan whines and attempts to squirm out of the hug sandwich while the others start to form a semicircle around them. “I hope you’re aware of how weird you’re making it.”

Jeonghan frowns. “You sure you’re okay?”

Chan nods, gaze clear and steady, and Soonyoung is struck by how much he’s grown since they debuted.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says, and stands a little straighter under Soonyoung and Vernon’s combined weights. “Starving though. What’s for lunch?”

 

\---

 

Saitama screams for them and the stage trembles beneath their feet, as do their hearts in the confines of their chests.

 

\---

 

Chan is replaying some kind of footage on his phone when Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom, showered and exfoliated for the night. Water still drips from Chan’s newly-lightened hair. The collar of his shirt is soaking wet, and their room service dinner sits untouched on the tray before him.

Soonyoung stuffs two massive pieces of karaage into his mouth before he flops onto his own bed with his own phone.

“Is that the thing you did in Fukuoka?” Soonyoung asks once he swallows his food.

Chan grimaces and hands the phone over to Soonyoung. “Yeah,” he says. Soonyoung scrubs to the beginning of the video and presses play. “They sent me the final cut. 

“This is cool,” Soonyoung murmurs, tracking the movement on the screen with his eyes. Chan makes a disbelieving noise at that. “You changed the steps again.”

Chan sighs. He crosses his legs and uncrosses them again. “Fixed it a bit during the shoot.”

Soonyoung looks up. “And you don’t like it?”

Chan shrugs and it looks helpless and angry all at once. “I dunno,” he says. “I guess?”

Soonyoung pauses the video. “You guess?”

“Maybe we should reshoot it,” Chan mutters. He reaches across the space between their beds for his phone but Soonyoung holds it just out of reach.

“I’m not done watching it,” Soonyoung informs him as he presses play once more. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about — this is good stuff and we really don’t have time for reshoots. You spent our only day off working on this as it is.”

“Yeah, but —“

“— Channie,” Soonyoung interrupts. He employs the Hyung Voice and Chan’s deference is well-practiced and immediate, if not a little sullen around the edges. “Trust me, it’s good enough.”

The brittle look that crosses Chan’s face before he nods may or may not be cause for alarm, Soonyoung cannot decide yet. But today he is tired and tomorrow they have yet another concert to put on, and Soonyoung trusts Chan to work through things on his own as he has for years now.

The back of Chan’s neck is damp when Soonyoung touches it.

“Eat your dinner,” he says, as Chan leans into the curve of his palm, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Soonyoung shoves Chan’s phone under the sheets for good measure.

Chan picks up his chopsticks and does as he’s told.

 

\---

 

They land in a Seoul that’s significantly warmer than the one they left. She’s missed them as much as they’ve missed her. Even the kimchi fried rice from their usual place tastes particularly good this day.

It’s the eye of the storm as far as Seventeen is concerned; there is a music video that needs shooting, and once they are done with it, another slew of concerts await them in Japan in a week’s time.

Chan’s dosirak sits unopened on his lap while he snoozes with his head against the car window, bare face sallow in the spring sunlight. A quick check of the back seat reveals that Jun and Minghao have chosen sleep over food too. It’s fatigue that Soonyoung is intimately familiar with, though the taste of kimchi has renewed his energy for now.

Soonyoung counts his blessings in the soft snores of his unit members that fill their car. Injury and sickness did not find them in Japan and for that he is endlessly thankful, but Soonyoung senses a precariousness in the team of late that —

Chan shifts restlessly in his sleep and knocks his plastic spoon off his lap.

Soonyoung takes custody of Chan’s lunch before it goes the same way, and if he brushes a thumb across the back of Chan’s hand as he does, no one has to know. It is strange to miss someone when you spend all your waking hours together, probably, but there is a sort of calculated cheerfulness to Chan lately that Soonyoung cannot quite unravel.

It bothers him.

So he eats the fried egg in Chan’s lunchbox.

 

\---

 

As much as he tries to avoid it, Soonyoung hovers.

Chan is older now, less willing to be babied and eager to prove himself; Soonyoung is still learning to tread lightly in his attempts to coddle. His most recent attempt at subtlety is pretending to review practice footage while the others head to the showers and the comfort of their beds. Nevertheless, Soonyoung finds himself in an accommodating mood as the night stretches past midnight.

Chan is working on new Danceology choreography in his corner, something in English with a pounding bassline that makes its home in Soonyoung’s chest. The music cuts out just before the bridge and restarts again and again and again, and Soonyoung sits and watches Chan navigate the ebb and flow of the verse with his body, chipping away at the problem until he finds something that works.

The music stops suddenly and Soonyoung blinks, a little thrown.

Chan makes a bitten-off noise of frustration and yanks the aux cord from his phone. The burst of static feedback cracks like a gunshot in the oppressive silence.

Soonyoung is careful when he speaks.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and Chan’s gaze cuts to him in the semi-darkness and widens, as if he had forgotten Soonyoung was even there in the first place. “We’ll raid the convenience store on the way home. My treat.”

Chan’s chest still heaves from the exertion and he swipes a shirtsleeve across his face with a roughness that leaves his skin pink. The thunder in his eyes abates, and then he is Soonyoung’s baby once again, stretching out his back with a sigh and trotting over at Soonyoung’s call, ever obliging. “Abandoning the diet today, are we?”

Soonyoung shrugs and hands Chan his half-empty bottle of green tea. “Depends on if you’ll still like me if I get chubby again.”

“What kind of question is that?” Chan mutters, wrestling, for a moment, with the too-tight bottle cap. Soonyoung observes the long line of his throat as he drinks. “I like you all the time, chubby or not.”

“Well, give us a kiss then,” Soonyoung says, pouting.

Chan rolls his eyes and plants a sweaty kiss on Soonyoung’s cheek. “There,” he says, as Soonyoung takes the opportunity to drag him closer. He’s missed this. Their hectic tour schedule doesn’t afford them much alone time these days, and Chan yields — sweetly, tiredly — into Soonyoung’s embrace. His next words are quiet, pressed into the soft skin of Soonyoung’s neck. “Happy now?”

“Could be better,” Soonyoung jokes. Chan’s lips twist against him and he feels like he’s misstepped somehow.

“Ah, story of my life,” Chan says as he moves away, and it only feels like half a jest.

Soonyoung’s not used to being out of sync with his maknae, his Lee Chan.

“I think I’ll stay a little longer,” Chan sighs. “Finish the verse and clean the whole thing up before I go.”

Soonyoung is not proud of the way it stings his pride. “Should I leave?” he asks.

It must show on his face a little, and Chan has memorized the pages of Soonyoung’s book years ago.

“No,” he says. He takes Soonyoung’s wrist in his hand, as if to hold him in place. “No, stay. Sorry. I could use some help with the choreography, actually.”

“With your new Danceology?” Soonyoung asks.

Chan nods.

He could help, of course -- Soonyoung’s been watching over every step of the process just as Chan’s always done for him. He knows exactly where the choreography fails to flow and where it needs polishing, but Danceology is _Chan’s_ , his hard work and heart bared with so much earnestness that it feels disingenuous for Soonyoung to smooth the imperfections down with his own hand.

“You’ve been kind of protective of it from the beginning,” Soonyoung says. “What’s changed?”

“Just trying new things. Carats may like it better." 

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose. “What’s wrong with the stuff you’ve been putting out? Also, isn’t the whole point of this to show them your own style?”

“I —” Chan starts and doesn’t finish. The breath Chan takes into his lungs and holds there feels like it should be too big for the confines of his ribs. He casts his gaze over at the audio equipment across the room and when he finally speaks his voice is faraway, muted. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Soonyoung snaps, his fire flaring too bright and hot for the quiet of Chan’s confession. He is older now, too, with lessons of his own he’s learnt, so he waits the anger out before he speaks again. “Chan ah, of course it’s enough. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Chan’s mouth is an unhappy thin line in the dark.

Soonyoung touches his fingers to the stubborn cut of Chan’s jaw. “Look at me, Channie,” he says.

“Look at me,” he says again, kissing the downturned corners of Chan’s mouth, the left first, then the right. Chan’s lips part on a quiet shudder of breath that rattles through his entire body as he turns his head and kisses Soonyoung back.

Soonyoung’s been waiting for _something_ since Shizuoka. Chan’s bad moods build up over days like gathering storm clouds and this one’s been brewing for over a week, shoved by the wayside in favour of work and returning with a vengeance. 

Better now, Soonyoung supposes — under the cover of darkness and the shield of his hyung’s arms — than later.

Even in this moment Chan tries to lead, surging forward until Soonyoung’s back hits wall. Chan is quiet, stubbornly so, in the way he always is when something bothers him, and Soonyoung, who’s never been a patient man, feels his patience finally wear thin and snap.

“Stop,” Soonyoung says.

Chan’s body obeys out of habit but his thunderous expression betray his thoughts. He rocks back on his heels and waits, a hair’s breadth from mutiny. His silence in itself is an act of rebellion, but Soonyoung will let it slide for now.

“Go lock the door,” Soonyoung says, and it is a command, the voice he uses when he polishes Seventeen into diamond and Chan’s eyes are wide and dark and attentive suddenly. He is Soonyoung’s best student for a reason, so he leaves Soonyoung’s orbit to do as he’s told.

Chan turns once the lock snaps in place, expectant.

“Put the song on,” Soonyoung tells him next. Chan hesitates, balance thrown, and Soonyoung catches him at it. “I’m helping like you asked, aren’t I? Put the track on repeat and come here.”

The beat thrums in his throat when the music fills their practice room, and Soonyoung takes centerstage under the lone spotlight and waits for Chan to hit his mark.

Chan’s cheekbones are stark on his face when he approaches. Gone is the puppy fat Soonyoung likes to pinch when he’s teasing but the unwavering trust in Soonyoung remains, and when Soonyoung takes a step back Chan takes his place in front of the mirrors as he always does when his form needs correcting. His eyes follow Soonyoung’s reflection.

“Touch yourself.”

Chan lips part as he inhales sharply and Soonyoung has no patience at all, no tolerance for a Lee Chan who hesitates to move and doubts himself, not when he looks like _this_.

He taps on Chan’s elbow. “Do it,” he says, warning laced in his tone, and Chan comes to life under his guidance, slipping his hand below the waist of his sweatpants. Soonyoung crowds closer against the line of Chan’s back just to feel the warmth of his pleasure. Chan’s head lowers as he strokes himself, and Soonyoung corrects him immediately.

“Eyes up,” he says, two fingers beneath the dip of Chan’s chin, testing the brand new slackness in his jaw. Soonyoung finds the jut of Chan’s hipbone underneath his shirt and grips it tight. Chan’s breath is humid with want against the skin of his wrist. “Watch yourself in the mirror.”

Chan’s eyes gleam with hunger and a dark-eyed sort of determination when he meets Soonyoung’s gaze in the mirror and it is hard, for a moment, to remember that he is in charge. But as moments go it is a fleeting one, gone in a flash once Soonyoung’s had enough and pushes the waistband of Chan’s sweatpants further down his hips and takes him in hand. 

Soonyoung feels the shudder ripple through Chan’s frame against his chest.

Chan’s cock is flushed and fully hard. Chan’s fingers, caught mid-stroke, twitch beneath Soonyoung’s. He stills under Soonyoung’s hand eventually.

Chan’s Danceology track ends and the silence in its wake fills the practice room until it is nearly unbearable. It feels like the universe is holding its breath for them, and Soonyoung’s entire world is just the trembling air in Chan’s lungs and the rigid bow of his back, suspended in time.

Neither of them really know how to exist in the spaces between their music, so when the track begins anew Soonyoung throws himself forward with something akin to relief and Chan is there, always, waiting for him. He jerks Chan to the filthy beat, guiding him through it as promised, and Chan gasps and shakes and lets out hitching little breaths that come from high in his throat that disappear into the pulse of the music.

“Soonyoung,” Chan whispers when he is close. Soonyoung can tell by the way the muscles in his thighs quake. “Hyung,” he says, voice cracked open and raw, his head thrown back against Soonyoung’s shoulder. “ _Hyung--_ ”

Chan comes with a sharp cry all over Soonyoung’s fingers.

“That’s one,” Soonyoung says, before Chan has the chance to catch his breath. Soonyoung smears the mess in his hand down the length of Chan’s still-hard cock and Chan jerks in his grip, strung-tight and oversensitive, pitching forward with a gasp. His knees buckle and Soonyoung takes them both to the floor.

“Fuck,” Chan swears, his head lolling weakly upon Soonyoung’s chest. Soonyoung loves the boneless splay of his legs in their reflections.

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Chan says again seconds later, with more feeling this time, and Soonyoung kisses him just to taste the shape of his desperation and to feel the whimpers vibrate against his teeth. 

Soonyoung presses his forehead to Chan’s sweaty temple. “Come for me,” he says, and Chan does -- soundlessly, frantically, _obediently._

Sprawled between Soonyoung’s legs and hiccuping softly, Chan is an outright mess. But Soonyoung isn’t done and there are still walls to hack down tonight and some honesty to be gained. It’s been a long month away from home and Soonyoung has missed the familiar confines of their practice room and the lean spread of Chan’s body. 

It’s hard not to be greedy where Lee Chan is involved. 

“One last time,” Soonyoung cajoles, stroking him slowly. He throws a leg over Chan’s as he bucks and keens, holding him in place.

“I can’t,” Chan moans, writhing helplessly in Soonyoung’s grip. “I can’t, hyung, I can’t, I can’t -- Soonyoung, please -- _please!_ ”

Soonyoung sucks sloppy kisses into the skin of Chan’s neck and continues to move his hand. “Of course you can,” he says, as Chan gasps wetly and twitches against him. “You're perfect. My gorgeous, hardworking Channie. You’ll come again just for me, won’t you?”

Chan sobs and jerks his head in something approximate to a nod.

Soonyoung tightens his grip, pressing the question.

“Yes,” Chan says. “Yes, anything for you, hyung, you know that.”

“Good boy,” Soonyoung praises, and soothes an open palm across Chan’s belly. “Let me take care of you.”

Chan lets Soonyoung drag him over the edge one last time and shakes into a million pieces.

 

\---

 

Afterwards they lie on the practice room floor, a tangled mess of limbs and heaving chests. Chan is flat on his back and staring blindly at the ceiling, sweaty and dazed. He is an absolute wreck and Soonyoung loves him -- _really loves him_ \-- with a reckless, greedy fierceness that almost hurts.

“You’re doing amazing, you know,” Soonyoung says as soon as they catch their breaths.

Chan swallows and blinks up at the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. “I’m really proud of you.”

Chan closes his eyes and Soonyoung watches him, studies the way he breathes carefully and arranges the back of his wrist across his face.

All Soonyoung can do is sit by him and wait.

“Thank you,” Chan says much later, when his cheeks are no longer wet, and Soonyoung’s freshly cleaned hands are bracketing his face. There is a new lightness in the way Chan holds himself and Soonyoung takes a moment to be proud of himself for putting it there.

“You’re welcome,” he says, pressing a wet kiss to Chan’s forehead just to make him squirm. “Hyung’s always here for you. Now stop crying with your dick out and go change.”

 

\---

 

They raid the convenience store on the way home and Chan gleefully dumps an armful of snacks onto the counter for Soonyoung to pay for. The dark circles under Chan’s eyes are distinct under the fluorescent light but he giggles when Soonyoung complains about being taken advantage of.

The hour is late but there are no schedules tomorrow, and there is nothing else that a lie-in won’t fix.

“You wanna go get lunch tomorrow?” Chan asks. The streets are quiet save for their footsteps and the crinkle of wrappers as they dig into their plastic bags. “Just the two of us.”

Soonyoung smiles as Chan bumps shoulders with him. 

“Okay,” he says. “It’s a date.”

 


End file.
